


Mirror

by catness



Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catness/pseuds/catness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Loosely inspired by the song Ich Tu Dir Weh.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by the song Ich Tu Dir Weh.

I am the mirror.

I wait in the dark room while he immerses himself in the world full of sun, air and sounds. But when the blazing light becomes unbearable, when the wind is choking the lungs, when voices are ripping the head apart and silence no longer provides relief, he comes back. He always comes back.

His restless green eyes meet mine - the familiar look of longing, mixed with despair. I smile. I know exactly what he needs, and I'm here to give it. It's so comforting, isn't it, when you always have somebody to turn to in times of need.

He raises his hand to touch the glass, and I repeat his gesture. His palm meets the cold smooth surface. Mine meets the warm flesh, calluses and scars. 

The cold touch makes him come to his senses and hesitate for a moment. But it's too late. As soon as he is here, as soon as he is standing in front of me, staring into my eyes, I won't let him go. He knows that. He made his choice when he stepped into this room. From now on, I choose for both of us.

The knife from his belt easily slips into my hand. I raise my arm and he repeats my gesture - what else can he do? Two blades approach each other from the opposite sides of the glass and linger, separated only by a thin layer of silver. I whisper: "Just refuse." The stubborn expression on his face says otherwise. He never listens to good advice. But then, I never give good advice and mean it. 

I unbutton the shirt with the other hand and hold the knife to my chest, at the chaotic mesh of old scars. There is never enough time for them to heal. He comes back for the same story to be told all over again, and I'm happy to oblige. His eyes are full of fear, mixed with desire. He makes the last, faint effort to draw the hand away, but I easily suppress the resistance. 

When the first drops of blood appear, there is no return.

He watches in fascination how easily steel pierces flesh. Down, down, pause. Up, up. Pause. He flinches; I jerk his hand back for a moment and let him take a deep breath. I don't want him to get exhausted too fast.

The scars spring to life, eagerly releasing the blood, which trickles down his body. A strange, cryptic pattern; every time I add some new details, a cut here and a slash there, to make the story more exciting, so he can never be certain what comes next. The shirt is dripping wet already, and I rip it off. Between us, we don't need any superfluous covers. It is just him and me - and our pain. 

I wonder if it hurts the same way on the other side of the glass.

Deeper... deeper. He bites his lips, suppressing the moan. No, you don't have to fight it. Screaming will do you good. I plunge the blade deeper. Give up, say it loud. Scream. I can't hear him from behind the glass, but the sight of his mouth twisted in agony - just like mine - is most inspiring. Oh, we can do it again and again. It's a never-ending carnival. 

He sinks to his knees, too dizzy to stand. It's fine, as long as we can hold the knife. I tighten my grip around the handle, just in case, but his fingers are still strong. He's such a good toy - so resilient, so obedient. And I'm so generous. I always provide him with what he needs. Even if he doesn't want it anymore, it doesn't matter. I always know better. No one knows him better than I do. I am the mirror.

Stay with me while I thrust it deeper. Watch how the universe expands to infinity filled with the exquisite pain that no one else can give you. I reach to you through the darkness of your desire, and we are one, united in perfect agony, and nobody can tell anymore which side of the glass is which.

The spasms cause me to momentarily lose control, and I find myself sprawled on the floor, face down. I struggle to raise my head and turn it in the direction of the glass. Is it a tear running down his cheek? Yes, I can taste it on my lips, the salty flavor of tears mixed with blood. I force his mouth into a smile. Relax and enjoy the ride. 

He crawls closer to me and scrambles to stand up, leaning on the glass surface for support. Now we can almost touch each other. I feel his heavy breathing in my chest, his sweat on my forehead. The pain splashes out of his eyes to be reflected in mine - or is it the other way round?

It's so tempting to see the end of the story, once and for all, isn't it? He is half-begging, half-threatening. Now it is his hand pointing the blade at my throat. One precise movement, and he could be free, but I stop it. No, I won't allow him to escape that easily. I have so much more in store for him. His shaking hand opens, letting the knife fall away.

I feel my fingers curling into a fist. Wait... what are you doing? No, you can't! The glass surface shatters under the blows. My hands are bleeding. I almost can't see him anymore through the web of cracks, spreading all around like scars. My body is breaking apart, pouring on the floor as a rain of glass.

But it is futile. He won't escape. This mirror is broken, but there are many more. A mirror only reflects what is already there. I smile as the red haze floods my eyes, and close my fingers around a shard of glass, clinging to it tightly.

You can never escape from yourself.


End file.
